


Tsunami

by jenojaemin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Art Major!Ten, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenojaemin/pseuds/jenojaemin
Summary: He tries to forget about his smile. And his soft voice, his breathy laugh. The way he curls up next to Kun when they’re finished with each other - giving him mixed signals when he knows there aren’t any. He knows what Ten wants from him, what he sees him as, but he can’t help falling deeper over the smallest things. He kisses Kun and says good morning in a tired voice before he leaves. Ten melts into his body when they shower together, pulling his arms around his shoulders so Kun is holding him like he belongs to him. It feels like deep bruises are left on his abdomen and chest where Ten’s fingers trace lazy circles in the morning sunlight, his eyes fluttering closed with sleepiness. None of this - not any of the things that drive Kun insane - are sexual in nature, and maybe that’s why Kun can’t get them out of his mind. Because it makes him believe that maybe, he’s not the only one who feels something more - but he knows he’s an optimist, and to a fault sometimes. He’s making mountains out of molehills.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun
Comments: 5
Kudos: 118





	Tsunami

**Author's Note:**

> Hihi~ Guess who’s back with more sad gay shit. Every new fic I write comes with an update to who I stan, apparently, and I am madly in love with Qian Kun now, and him and Ten have such a wonderful dynamic to write, so here we are.
> 
> This was very loosely based off Back 2 U by NCT 127, though I didn’t really follow through with the concept I had envisioned, I still really like this fic. Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy! ^^

He’s magnetic, and he knows it. 

He’s got this coy smile, these sharp cat eyes. A sweet laugh and a heavy gaze across the bar, dead set on Kun’s face as he peers over his drink, a grin on his lips when he sees the deer trapped in his headlights. Kun feels lucky to be hunted. 

He doesn’t know his name. He doesn’t know anything besides the feeling of his hands running over his body. How blissful it all is - how unreal. The wetness of his lips on Kun’s neck, the neediness in his voice when he asks, “Touch me?” Kun’s so lost inside the space between the two of them. 

It’s gross. Unseemly. He’s got a stranger bent over a counter in a public washroom, his head swimming with drunkenness and ecstasy and booming music but it’s so, _so_ good - Kun doesn’t care. He’d be disgusted with himself if this gorgeous human wasn’t staring over his shoulder back at him, eyes wide with hunger as Kun pulls at his hips with rough force. His face pressed against the marble of the counter, sweaty and flushed as he lets Kun have his way with him, never breaking eye contact as he shamelessly uses him like some sex doll - like he loves it. And Kun does too. He loves the tiny squeaks that come from the back of the strangers throat as he nears his climax, loves the way he reaches back for Kun’s hips to pull him closer, _deeper_ , and the way he shutters when Kun finally comes inside him, his nails digging welts into the hips of this foreign body. He’s absolutely obsessed. 

They don’t talk after - it’s not as if Kun expected them to. They share a cigarette in the cramped, dim space of the humid bathroom, each silent and content with the filth they had just partaken in. The only thing said between the two was the stranger asking for Kun’s phone, his elegant face illuminated by the blue glow as he enters his phone number, and the soft words, “Let me know when you need me again.” He hands his phone back with the contact displayed on his screen. Ten. 

It goes as such for awhile. Kun does as he’s told - he would never do anything Ten didn’t want. Since the night he saw him he was wrapped around his finger. He called. After a long day at work, a stressful week, anytime he needs to blow off steam his phone is dialling. “Ten.” His name is just as pretty as him - almost. Nothing compares to him in reality, especially when he’s splayed out against Kun’s sheets, exposed and unashamed, only for him to see in that moment. He sometimes wished he was the only one to see Ten like this ever, but he puts it out of his mind the second it enters. 

“I’ll be over in a few.”

And they don’t talk about it - they don’t need to, really. They know each other’s names now. Ten knows where Kun’s apartment is, Kun knows where Ten’s sensitive spots are, and they each exploit those areas without questioning the motives behind it, silently agreeing that it’s only physical, and would remain so. That they only needed each other for this, and that, for now, it seemed to be working quite well. Ten shows up unannounced often - begins to call Kun first like he needs him just as much, if not more. And Kun won’t complain. Not when he’s got Ten folded in half on his sofa, calling his name like a prayer, begging for him like nobody has ever needed him before. It would be sacrilegious to deny him the pleasure. He felt like a god with Ten’s body under him. 

But it creeps, those thoughts. The sparkle in Ten’s eye when he smiles at him is a cataclysmic disaster ripping at Kun’s ribcage. His laugh a tsunami. It’s not fulfilling, he realizes. Just this - whatever this is - would never be enough to fill that blackhole inside his chest he so desperately tried to that night he met Ten. He was foolish for thinking he could, but on some levels, Kun didn’t even really know what he was looking for back then. 

He was busy. Work was stressful, his family life was tense, and his friends were so brash sometimes he wondered if they even warranted that title. Ten was what he needed at the time, and as his needs evolved - or as he realized what those needs actually were, and how improperly he had been chasing them - Ten was still there. And Kun couldn’t do much to fix that, because they seemed to have been carved into stone, and any attempt to erode it was met with the hardness of a diamond core. Impenetrable. 

He ignored how he began to feel. Ignored how he wanted Ten for much more than just his body, because he’s sure that’s all Ten wanted from him. And Kun couldn’t quite take the devastation of actually hearing that from him. What they have now - however disappointing and unsatisfying it may be, it was still more than he had months ago. So he fucks him, and tries to forget everything else about him that he doesn’t need in order to do so. 

He tries to forget about his smile. And his soft voice, his breathy laugh. The way he curls up next to Kun when they’re finished with each other - giving him mixed signals when he knows there aren’t any. He knows what Ten wants from him, what he sees him as, but he can’t help falling deeper over the smallest things. He kisses Kun and says good morning in a tired voice before he leaves. Ten melts into his body when they shower together, pulling his arms around his shoulders so Kun is holding him like he belongs to him. It feels like deep bruises are left on his abdomen and chest where Ten’s fingers trace lazy circles in the morning sunlight, his eyes fluttering closed with sleepiness. None of this - not any of the things that drive Kun insane - are sexual in nature, and maybe that’s why Kun can’t get them out of his mind. Because it makes him believe that maybe, he’s not the only one who feels something more - but he knows he’s an optimist, and to a fault sometimes. He’s making mountains out of molehills. 

“Are you free on Sunday?” There’s a cold sweat on the back of Kun’s neck. Ten sits with his back to him, on the edge of the bed with a cigarette between his fingers. Kun stares at the back of his head like he can understand what he’s thinking if he concentrates enough. His thoughts race faster than he ever imagined they could, staring up at Ten from where he lay, exhausted against his damp sheets. Ten’s peering over his bare shoulder - covered in Kun’s bite marks and bruises that so frustratingly do not signify his ownership - at him as he takes a puff of his cigarette. 

“Yea?” He can’t think of anything else to say. His heart is caught in his throat, every possibly of what he was about to be asked flooding his chest, choking him.

“I have a show if you wanna come.” 

“A show?”

“Yeah.” Ten exhales smoke, and Kun’s reminded to breath. He sits up, taking the cigarette from Ten in hopes of seeming nonchalant, of calming the ball of nerves piled inside his stomach. “Like an exhibit? It’s my graduating class’ and I don’t wanna seem like a total loser when nobody shows up to my booth.” There’s the laugh Kun hated that he loved. 

Kun agrees, and he doesn’t know why, because this has got to be recklessly dangerous. “Of course I’ll come.” He doesn’t even know what he’s going to. He’s lost in thought and in the crinkles of Ten’s eyes when he beams at him, so excited that Kun agreed, like no one has ever given him the time of day before. He bites his lip like he’s embarrassed - like he doesn’t know how much turmoil such a small gesture will have on Kun’s mental state. 

“Cool.” He says softly. “I’ll text you the details.” Kun’s in far too deep.

He’s drowning. Ten’s wearing a black turtleneck and laughing with a group of friends. So effortlessly beautiful Kun considers turning around - leaving and never seeing him again - for his own sake. But there’s this glow that comes from Ten when he spots him across the gallery, his attention immediately dropping from his peers and focusing in on nobody else, just Kun. He wished it was always like that. Just him - only him. But he’s never going to be that to Ten.

He’s talented. Of course he is - Kun’s stupid for even wondering about his art in the first place. His delicate fingers flip through charcoal smudged papers, a sheepish smile on his tiny lips as he explains the drawings, standing all too close to Kun. There’s a warmth that radiates off him, a comfort. Like he’s so use to Kun he gravitates towards him, let’s his palm drop to his bicep as he introduces him to other artists and his friends, talking about him like he knows him. Like he cares about him. And Kun feels delusional, because it’s not sexual in the slightest, and those are the things that makes him think - and he doesn’t want to think about Ten. Not anymore. 

He stays into the small hours of the morning. Once everyone’s done packing their pieces up and Ten is sitting on the edge of the folding table, his feet dangling and Kun’s hips between his knees. He smiles with his fingers dancing around the collar of Kun’s shirt, quietly glancing around the room before pulling Kun closer with an evil little smile. “We’re alone, you know?” 

Kun’s thankful Ten doesn’t talk much when he’s getting fucked - but it’s still too much. His nails scratch at the plastic of the flimsy table that buckles with Kun’s thrusts, his hips tilt up as he asks for more, like Kun never gives him enough. Like Kun hadn’t already given him everything. He’s exhausted everything within his heart, emptied it dry and poured it all into Ten and he’s still not full - he still wants more. “ _More._ Fuck - Kun.” It’s all too much. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want to see the body that doesn’t belong to him curve and bend at his will, doesn’t want Ten looking at him like he’s the only man in the world when he knows he’s not his first and won’t be his last. “Fuck me. Please - god, fuck me.”

Kun’s head swells. His eyes are shut tight and his grip on Ten’s hips is even tighter. He needs it to be over - this, whatever this is. Not just the moment but Ten. He needs him gone, because it hurts so fucking much. He wants to cry or scream or jump off a bridge because he can’t take it. He went searching after something to sedate his body only to find his heart infected as a side effect, and he can barely even chase after the first anymore without feeling violently ill. 

“ _Kun-_ ”

“Shut up.” Kun spits. Violent. Venomous. Cold. “Just shut the fuck up, okay?” 

Kun finishes with a painful grunt, only staying long enough to see Ten’s shocked face looking back at him. He ignores it. Forgets it. Let’s Ten finish himself off because if he didn’t need him for anything else, he certainly didn’t need him for that. He’s nothing to Ten. He could get this from anyone but decided it’s Kun’s heart he wants to toy with instead. He’s gone before he can even think to say goodbye. 

_“You’re a piece of work you know that?”_ Is the last message Kun receives from Ten before he deletes his number. He’s done, even if his body tells him he can’t survive without him. At this point he’d rather die alone than break his own heart further. Kun’s not the best when it comes to self esteem, but he loves himself enough to stay away from what will hurt him - and Ten was a walking hurricane, ready to suck him in at any moment. 

It takes two weeks until Kun realizes he’s not thinking about him - subsequently bringing him back into his thoughts because of that realization. He still feels empty. He overthinks and hardly sleeps and doesn’t need to stay late at work but does so until his eyes feel like they’re bleeding and all words in his head scramble into a vague image of a spreadsheet. Getting promoted should be something he’s proud of - something to celebrate. He should be having the time of his life as his friends and coworkers buy him drink after drink as congratulations, but he’s locked in a bathroom stall with his head in his hands, sobbing like he never knew how to cry before. 

It hurts. And it wasn’t fair. Kun feels like he’s being put through some horrible medieval torture machine every second Ten’s inside his head. Because he wanted him, and nothing else - but the worst part wasn’t his loneliness. The worst part was Ten didn’t even do anything wrong. Kun hated him and everything about him vehemently, feeling his blood boil and his organs constrict at anything that reminds him of the younger. He’d see beautiful art and think of his ink stained fingers - he’d hear sweet music and think of his melodic voice, singing to himself in the shower. A beautiful stray cat with dark eyes or the smell of earl grey tea. It was all Ten and Kun hated every bit of it.

But it’s not his fault. Kun did this to himself. Kun was the one to make the first move - the one to call first. The one to not break it off the second he felt something was off. Kun was the one who couldn’t stick to their nonverbal agreement, and Kun was the one who didn’t have the courage to tell Ten before it got out of hand. He stood in the train tracks, staring down Ten’s headlights, knowing just how ruined he’d become if he didn’t move. He hates himself just as much as he hates Ten. 

Nothing is on in Kun’s apartment. His living room is dark, the tv is off, and it’s silent. Nothing to be heard but his own occasional sobs and sighs and the clink of empty beer bottles crowding his coffee table. He’s miserable - and even more so than before he met Ten, when he thought he couldn’t sink any deeper. 

He had been stressed about life - about work and countless other things - and like any other person his age, he needed to get laid. He went to a bar fully expecting to sleep with the first thing that had a pulse and made eye contact with him, but instead only sat at the bar, alone, and lonely. Every confidence he had was gone when he sees couples laughing together, touching each other like nobody could see them, like it didn’t make Kun even more depressed than he already was. And his sedative, after that deep stare he gave him, smiled at him so sweetly Kun feels stupid for ever thinking he could fuck him without falling in love. “Rough week?” Is what Ten asked him, before they were alone, in that dirty washroom, their bodies so close nothing but sweat could come between them. 

He didn’t know why he ran over that night so many times in his head. They had sex countless times by now - there was certainly times that were more enjoyable than the first. Ten would choke himself on his cock, look up at him with watery eyes, tell him he’s big and pull his hair and scratch deep lines into his back like he could read his mind - like he knew everything Kun was turned on by, and some he didn’t even know until Ten did them to him. He knew Kun’s body better than anyones. Knew he liked eye contact and dirty talk, knew he liked when Ten came without touching himself - knew it made him feel powerful. Ten knew he had a bit of a god complex, and would lose his mind over any form of praise Ten gave him. Every nook and cranny of Kun’s body belonged to Ten. From the first night, it was all his. And now, sitting alone and drunk and horny and lonely - Kun regrets everything. He regrets Ten. 

But Ten cries too. After that night at the gallery - after what Kun said and how he treated him he was sure he’d move on, he’d be gone the second he didn’t get the attention he needed anymore because he was way too good for Kun. Ten respected himself too much too come back to someone who treated him so poorly, so he never had hopes he’d come back. But there’s a weak knocking at his door, and Ten is drunk too, and seemingly just as upset, looking up at Kun with wet eyes for the first time not caused by pleasure, but still caused by him nonetheless. “Just one more time? Please?” Kun has no willpower anymore, and mercilessly agrees, having him pinned down beneath him and writhing in pleasure before he can even consider the consequences. 

It’s a mistake and he knows it, Ten knows it, but Kun kisses him like he’s a starved man. Like he’s drowning and Ten’s his only source of oxygen. As much as Kun’s heart hurt from not having him all to himself, his body hurt from missing him. He needed this. And although he knows it was wrong to give into his addiction, god, Ten’s body fit his like a fucking glove. 

He can’t make it. No matter how hard he fucks Ten, how gorgeous and wet and tight he is - he’s caught. The wires get crossed through his drunkenness or from his extended crying session earlier that night. His heart and his cock are confused and he needs more than just the sensation now. More than just Ten’s body. He needs to feel it inside his heart to come. Needs Ten to need him for more than just his cock. 

“Tell me you love me.” Kun pants into Ten’s neck like it’s any other request, like he’s said it a thousand times before. Ten’s frozen, and Kun’s on the brink of tears or orgasm - he can’t tell. “Please, just once. Even if you hate me.”

Ten gulps under Kun’s lips, his pulse fast under his wet kisses. “But I don’t...” The tears come as he does - shaking above him in pleasure and heartache and embarrassment, deep sobs as he rocks into Ten’s stiff body until he’s frozen as well. 

He’s pathetic. Worthless. Kun presses his forehead to Ten’s sweaty chest, his heartbeat rapid and breathing shallow as he continues to sob. And he can’t look up - can’t face Ten looking at him the way Kun is positive he’s staring. Disgusted - perhaps even scared. Petrified. Kun would be too. Because he is disgusting. 

But then the siren song comes. From somewhere deep in the sea Ten’s voice calls. His fingers slide around the back of Kun’s neck like waves lapping at the shore, his shallow breathing moonlight tides. 

“I don’t hate you.” He’s crying too - the moon pulling waves back into that tsunami but so different than the one Kun feared drowning in before. Now he wants to fill his lungs with Ten. He wants to suffocate. “I could never hate you.”

When Kun finally works up the courage and energy to look at Ten, his heart sinks, because for the first time in their relationship, he knows he’s not reading into this. He knows Ten’s sincerity. He’s not someone who lies - especially not like this, in such a vulnerable state. His face is a mixture of pleasurable exhaustion and utter heartache and Kun kisses the soul out of him. 

There’s a lot to work through. And when Kun pulls away, their lips swollen and cheeks damp, he presses his forehead against Ten’s, staring as if he could fix everything between them with just a kiss. It terrifies him to think what lies ahead is unknown. That this could still be utterly catastrophic. But not much matters when Ten smiles through his tears, his thumbs wiping the elders before he gives him a chaste kiss. Whatever happens - whatever Kun fears, nothing could be worse than denying himself of Ten any longer. Nothing could ruin him more than voluntarily abandoning that smile and that heart. It wouldn’t matter if it hurt in the future - if he did get sucked under, because right now, this is all he ever wanted. And he’d sacrifice anything for Ten, his everything. 

Ten smiles against Kun’s lips, and whispers like an angel. “I could only ever love you.”


End file.
